I'm So Sorry
by CabooseHeart
Summary: AU. In this universe, before Delta can even tell Washington about North, South fires her pistol and kills Agent Washington. He's gone now and his story ends on an unfinished note. Now it's her story. M for violence and possible F/F sex later on, not sure about that last part yet.
1. Don't Wear It Out

**I'm So Sorry**

 **Chapter 1: Don't Wear It Out**

 **Description: AU. In this universe, before Delta can even tell Washington about North, South fires her pistol and kills Agent Washington. He's gone now and his story ends on an unfinished note. Now it's her story.**

 **A/N: Hahaha, let me go outta my comfort zone and write something that ISN'T centered entirely around Agent Washington. Anyway, I was up until, like, 3:30 last night thinking about this AU... don't give me that look, trust me on this! Please R &R!**

* * *

Your vision is fuzzy as you put all of your weight on one knee, breath heavy and uneven as you try and forcefully regain your composure. A few feet away, you can just make out a terribly fuzzy and distorted figure of Agent Washington, standing about ten feet away from you. On either side of him are the sim troopers, one of which takes Delta from you. Losing Delta, amazingly enough, begins to lessen your headache, making your vision return faster. There's a bullet lodged in your stomach, just above your left thigh, and the urge to vomit is almost mind numbing. Wash doesn't look at you while he yells at the sim troopers- presumably for letting the Meta get away- but you don't pay him any mind until he mentions leaving.

"I can't..." You pause, trying to even out your own breathing. In front of you, the sim troopers and Wash stop, eyes on you as you try to speak. "I can't walk like this." You explain, hoping against hope that Wash is feeling compassionate today.

"Well I guess you'd better start crawling," Washington bites out, and you can hear the malice in his tone. "If you think I'm leaving you here to escape you've got another thing coming." Oh, so he IS planning on taking you with him. Yippie.

"Agent Washington, if I may," You stop dead in your tracks, hands on the ground as you prepare to actually drag yourself over to them. Delta. That traitorous cockbite. "Before you arrived, Agent South Dakota attempted to turn me over to the Meta, to save herself." That piece of shit. If you make it out of here, you're gonna rip him apart.

"Really now?" Wash almost seems to smirk, like he WANTS an excuse to shoot your head off. Part of you can't find the heart to blame him- you shot him first, right?- but the other part still wants to live and has half a mind to wipe that stupid smirk off his face from under the helmet. "Anything ELSE I should know?" He's already reloading his pistol, and you can feel both of the sim troopers start to shuffle a few feet back, appearing nervous. You don't blame them.

"Yes. Before you arrived at the scene, when the Meta attacked Agents North and South Dakota-"

Everything feels like it's slowing down, and you just stare at Delta and Washington, side by side, facing you. A few more words and your fate is sealed. Wash liked North- just like everyone else- and if he figures out it was all your fault... suddenly, the memories are back. You do not, thankfully, remember like Agent fucking Washington does. You have not memorized a steady stream of 'Allison, Alpha, Allison, Alpha', you have not screamed a dead woman's name into the night for weeks on end, and you have not vomited every night for three months straight after the horrendous nightmares continue. You do not remember like Washington, but that doesn't mean you forget anything.

You remember North in several different ways- three years old and wrestling with you in the back seats of Dad's car, seven years old and getting his nose broken by some bully at school, thirteen years old crying his eyes out after his crush calls him a faggot, nineteen years old hunched over a UNSC space marine registration form- you remember North in a thousand more ways than anyone else in this known universe ever will. This, in a way, haunts you, because goddamn the things you cannot forget about North that you will never be able to recollect with him. Your birthday is coming up in a few more weeks- you'll be twenty-three and... you'll be older than him. You'll _outgrow_ North. That's _terrifying_.

In one, fluid motion, you snap away from your never ending thoughts and let go of your stomach wound- your right hand now painted cherry red- and reach for your pistol. Your fingers wrap around it faster, faster than Wash when he realizes and raises his own. You throw your arm up, pistol aimed right at his visor. This is almost ironic, in a cruel and unusual sense. You shot him in the back, and now you're about to shoot him in the face. To be fair- this isn't fair at all, but you'll humor yourself just this once- he blew North's body to Kingdom Come. Really, he deserves it... not really, but you want to believe it. You want to believe it as you close your eyes and pull the trigger.

You were always faster than him.

Bulls-eye.

Agent David Alexander Cooper Washington goes down instantly, his mind gone and void of thought as his now limp body collapses. At least you made it fast. The tall, blue sim trooper screams, along with the cobalt one. You ignore them in favor of leaning against the concrete wall beside you, breathing even more roughly than before as you try to fight back the urge to cry in agony at the pain in your gut. The blue trooper hurries to the cobalt one, hugging him for protection as you regain your breath. Once you have a good handle on it, you drop your pistol and reach up with your now free hand, grabbing onto the wall for support as you start to stand, legs incredibly shaky as you struggle to stay on your feet.

"New rules," You announce, after spitting out blood from your bruised mouth, splattering your visor a rusty crimson. "I'm in charge, got it? Washington? We burn him. You two..." You wheeze, trying to shake off the incoming dizziness. "One of you is gonna have to carry me. I'll need a medic."

"Um... what if we do not want to go with you? Because some of us might be scared... and might have gotten scared enough to pee..." The blue one explains, keeping a fair distance from where you're just about ready to pass out.

"Too fucking bad, kid," You deadpan, coughing at your visor a second time. "Goddammit... which one of you is stronger?" When neither answer, you reach down, wincing as you grab your pistol, pointing the weapon at the troopers. "I asked you a question, soldiers. Follow orders."

"Caboose," The cobalt one replies, and when you just stare at him blankly, he gets the blue trooper to release him before pointing up at the SPARTAN-sized man. "He's a SPARTAN... he can carry ya. What'll you do for us though?"

"Do for you?" You repeat, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'll tell you what I'll do-" You twirl the pistol, before pointing it upwards, firing. A few seconds later, a bird lands dead on the ground. "Ya saw that, right? That's gonna be you in a few seconds if you don't call a fucking medic. You understand that, Sherlock fucking Holmes, or do you need another clue?"

The cobalt trooper wisely backs off, giving Caboose or whatever his name is room to walk towards you, arms open to carry you. "Alright, just..." You trail off as you struggle to keep a grip on the pistol, wanting to keep a weapon close-by in-case they aim to dump you somewhere. The blue one obviously isn't used to carrying someone with a stomach wound- he immediately goes to put you in a fireman's carry, but you push away before he can really hurt you. "Don't carry me like that, asshole... we'll have to do this bridal style."

Thankfully, it seems Caboose understands the meaning of that, and after a few seconds of figuring it out, he has you safely off the ground and in his arms. He carries, you notice, like you weigh next to nothing. "Good job, kid," You praise, tempted to pat the man on the chest, but you still have your pistol in your right hand and your left hand pressed over the bullet wound in your stomach. "You, cobalt, what's your name?" You address the other trooper sternly. Out of the two of them, he's been the most aggressive.

He hesitates, before sighing deeply, shaking his head as he gives in. "I'm Church," He explains, not looking very happy to be revealing this to you. "Don't wear it out."

That strikes a match in your insides, and not just because Caboose is jostling you a little too much. _"-Don't wear it out." Carolina warns, grinning at you like a bobcat. "That's my favorite fucking shirt you're wearing."_

 _"What, you think I'm gonna fuck it up and stain it with shit?" You ask teasingly, checking yourself out in the mirror. The shirt's big on you, mostly because Carolina always gets her shirts huge, but it's smaller on you than it is on 'Lina. "I'm hurt, Care."_

 _"Wounded even?" Carolina replies, fake-pouting at you. She grins though, and God, you love it when she grins. Her smile makes it feel like the sun has finally come up after decades of winter and the weather is warm and comfortable. "You better hurry back to your room, South: North'll kill you if he finds out what we've been up to."_

 _"He can suck it." You tell her, turning around to bend over slightly, pressing a butterfly-like kiss to Carolina's forehead. "I'm pretty fucking sure he does suck it, by the way. He keeps shooting York bedroom eyes in training. It's pretty lame."_

 _"Ain't that how we used to be?" Carolina reminds you, before laughing at your angry pout, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss it away. "I'm just teasing, South. I'll see you later, right?"_

 _"'Course, Care." You promise, hugging her once more before you sneak out into the hallway, hurrying back to your bedroom. If you're caught sleeping with the Director's daughter, your ass is toast, Agent South Dakota-_

The daydream ends on a surprisingly good note as Church reaches over, tapping you on the knee. You almost shoot him, but you miss, the cobalt trooper dodging just in time. "Ah, fuck! Jesus Christ, I was just asking question!"

You glare at him, a growling sound beginning to build in the back of your throat. "The fuck you need, shithead?" You whisper, voice husky and raw with anger. You hate him for taking that dream away from you, for taking HER away from you. "It'd better be fucking good."

Church glares right back at you- you can feel it through his visor- before he coughs awkwardly into his fist, looking away from you. "Yeah, um, if you don't wanna bleed out here, we should probably fucking beat it. But hey, if you wanna die, I'm cool with that."

You wanna slap him, but it hurts too much to move. "Fuck you, asshole," You mutter, but then you look up at Caboose, whose been rather obedient since you killed Wash. "Hey, big guy, go get Delta from Wash's corpse, 'kay? We don't have time to burn him so we'll leave his body here... but search him first."

"I'll get him." Church offers, and crouches down by Wash's body, pulling Delta out of a slot on his armor and passing it over to Caboose, who plugs the AI into the back of his skull.

"Search everywhere. We'll need all the info we can get before a Recovery Agent shows up and tries to fuck with us." You explain, watching as Church searches the younger Freelancer.

"Um... the fuck are these?" Church asks, pulling out a few photos from one of the pockets on the armor, giving them a confused once-over.

"Give 'em," You order, and once he does, you pocket them, groaning as you rest your head against Caboose's chest. "Alright, soldier," You mutter, patting Caboose's chest-plate to show him some moral support. "Get me to a medic, 'kay? I think I'm... I think I'm passing out here..." You close your eyes, falling out of it, until you're passed out and long gone in another memory.

* * *

 _"He'll NEVER pick these colors." You assure yourself for the millionth time, checking yourself in the mirror as you adjust your armor._

 _Today, Agent South Dakota, is your first day as a Freelancer. It's your twin brother's first day, too, but today is all about you in your mind. Today, you're South Dakota. You're not the Olivia to Owen, you're a Freelancer with a new name and a new life. No more of that twinsies bullshit. You're grown up, at twenty-one, and done with being Owen #2; today, you're South. It has a nice ring to it, you think, and is a great excuse to stash a few dirty pick-up lines in your arsenal. Just as you get your helmet on, covering your newly purple-tip dyed hair, you hear the locker room doors open a little ways away. You damn near jump, as the Counselor or whatever his name is promised you when you went in with the armor that no one would disturb you- something about 'New Recruit Policy' or some shit._

 _You don't mind though, so long as it's not Owen coming inside. You turn when you hear footsteps, and freeze as your eyes land on aqua armor. She's a girl, most likely, wearing the standardized female version of the UNSC's RECON armor set, her head held high as she practically struts past you, whistling all the while. Half of you wants to slap her, while the other half wants her to whistle for the next three hours; she has a beautiful voice. The aquamarine stranger stops once she's out of view, her whistling cutting off, before she backs up a few steps, turning to now stare directly at you. Even though you're in full body armor, South, you still feel naked in front of the other Freelancer as she studies you, eyes hidden behind a back visor that gives you no hints or explanations._

 _Suddenly, the Freelancer pulls off her helmet, and you're immediately greeted to a shock of red hair. She then looks up, having been staring at the floor while pulling off her helmet, and if her whistling didn't buy you, her eyes sure as fuck have. They're so... green! You've never seen such emerald green eyes in your entire life, and you've seen a lot of pairs of eyes, on TV, porn, and just from growing up in a big city. Her smile is precious as well, and goddammit all, she has dimples on either side of her face. She smiles so brightly at you too, before it abruptly changes, becoming more... competitive. You've only seen that type of spark of confidence while doing martial arts in grade school and arm wrestling in Basic. Aquamarine gal holds her hand out, out of nowhere, catching you off-guard._

 _"Hey," Aqua greets, smirking at you as she looks your armor up and down. "You must be one of the new Freelancers. I'm Agent Carolina; I'm more or less the leader of this little team."_

 _You can't help but smile, even if she can't see it. You slap her armored hand with your own, gripping it way too tightly as you shake it like a madman. "The name's Olivia Crimson, but I guess it's gonna be Agent South Dakota while I'm in this joint."_

 _You think, for a moment, that Carolina might yell at you for shaking her arm so hard as she gives you a blank stare, before she grins, and starts laughing outright. "I like your style, South. You're gutsy. We could use more gutsy people on this damn team. Welcome aboard!"_

 _You laugh with her, and just as you're about to pull out a well-trained pick-up line- "You wanna know WHY the Director named me SOUTH?"- the locker room doors slam open, and God fucking dammit, your day is completely ruined as your eyes land on dark purple and bright green armor. "Heya, sis!" Owen says, running in and hugging you, ignoring the fact that you'd still been holding Agent Carolina's hand. "Guess what? Our Freelancer names match! I talked the Director and Counselor into letting me be Agent North Dakota instead of Ohio. Isn't this great?"_

 _"Um... hi?" Carolina offers your brother, and she shoots you a look, but your helmet is on so you can't articulate the facial command for Carolina to beat your brother to death. "I'm Agent Carolina, the Freelancer team leader."_

 _"Oh, hey, sorry for barging in so quick. I'm just excited is all!" North explains, taking Carolina's hand and shaking it just like you did._

 _"Well, I can see that you and your sister here obviously need to talk about... something," Agent Carolina sounds awkward, and you wonder if she has any siblings of her own or not. "So, I'll just go and check on York... bye!" And there she goes, out the door and unknowingly crushing your heart. There goes your chances with Agent fucking Carolina._

 _"Thanks a fucking lot, Owen!" You shout, and you shove your brother away from you, shouldering past him as you stop out of the locker room. Maybe you can talk the Counselor into letting you beat the fuck out of North in hand-to-hand training later._

 _"Olivia!?" North sounds so distressed, but you ignore the puppy-dog bullshit and continue stalking away. "Wait, come back, I-" A hand is on your shoulder- maybe it's North's, maybe it's not- and just like that, everything flashes white and it's gone._

* * *

A hand is on your shoulder. You grab it with your own, attempting to flip over and beat this motherfucker to death- except something gets pulled on your belly and suddenly you're on the ground screaming like a wounded animal. You more or less are. Above you, and certainly not pinned on the floor with a pistol to their head like you intended, stands some random SPARTAN- no, not a SPARTAN, not tall enough- with purple power-armor, hands close to their chest as they stare down at you, as if concerned. You stop screaming long enough to bite your lip hard enough to draw blood, trying to get your mind off the razor-sharp pain in your gut. Nearby, you hear armored feet shuffle, and before you know it, blue armored arms are scooping you up and setting you delicately down on the bed you were on before.

"I don't see why we're helping the bitch who shot Washington," A voice says, farther away and annoyed, hinting that you're definitely outnumbered here. "I mean, I didn't like that fuckhead Wash to begin with, but I don't think it's fair we're letting his killer live."

"She's injured, Church. As a medical professional, it's my duty to heal and nurture all patients brought to me, no matter their crimes or histories." The purple armored guy explains, sounding like he's very sure of himself.

"What I'm saying is that we could kill her right now, and she couldn't stop our asses," The distant voice explains to their comrades, sounding bitter and tired. "I'm just saying, it might be best to just, ya know, off her while we can before she decides to shoot us first."

"But she is helpless," The blue armored SPARTAN tells the others, including you, giving you a seemingly pitiful look from behind his visor. "She looks so sad, Church. We cannot kill her."

"Yes, we can," Church decides, being the distant voice, and you hear him coming towards you, just as the purple SPARTAN gets you to uncurl from the fetal position and lie on your back. "I don't see why we're keeping her ass alive if she's just gonna kill us all later."

"You're so... full of shit," You declare, the words coming out without your consent and slightly warped, like you're drunk or something. "You like being a tough guy, shithead? Then fucking do it. Try and blow my brains out."

You're testing him, which you know is a really, really bad idea, but fuck it. You're tired and bleeding out onto this med-bed and dammit all if you want a little rest. Dammit all if you want it to end. Church comes into view as you turn your head, glaring at the cobalt dressed simulation trooper. He's older than you, you think, watching him like a hawk. He has his helmet off, allowing you to see his scowl. But that's not what strikes out to you- it's those EYES. You've seen those kinda eyes two times before, one pair belonging to a girl you knew intimately and warmly, and the other belonging to your worst nightmare. His hair is dark, jet black and grown in a mess, all uneven and greasy. He steps forward, his own pistol held in his gloved hands, and holds it against the side of your head.

Your eyes lock with his, and you can already tell that this fucker won't pull the trigger, and not because he wants to show mercy. This guy isn't a killer, not in the way you are anyhow. You study his eyes as the standoff continues, tempted to tell him how his eyes remind you of a girl you loved back in Freelancer. You don't though; it isn't worth your time to talk the shit about your past. Above you and off to the side, the purple guy is staring at Church, and you wonder if he's glaring at him. He doesn't look like the glaring type. Even more to the side is the blue guy- Caboose, you remember suddenly and with little warning- watching from afar, looking ready to step in, but too afraid to do so. You can't really blame him; standoffs with you always ended in a fight back in Freelancer, and that luck will most likely continue.

"Fuck it," Church finally growls, and you can feel how much self-restraint it takes for him to lower the pistol, eyes still locked with your's. He sets the pistol down, before grabbing your chin with the hand that once held his pistol, keeping your eyes on him. "You try and snap my neck though, bitch, and I won't hesitate the next time."

If it weren't for Caboose now holding you down on the table, you'd reach up, grab a fistful of Church's hair, and break his head open on the side of your med-bed. You don't though, restrained and physically exhausted as whatever drugs these fucks have been giving you begin to take a greater effect on you, your mind now turning into pudding as your head lulls, a thick stream of nonsense leaving your mouth as the medic patches you up, stitching back up the bullet wound in your gut. Church kinda looks at you- you have no idea what you're saying so he might be hearing some fucked up things- before he backs off a few steps, returning to leaning against the far wall of the secluded bunker.

"How long until she goes back under?" Church asks, and the fight is gone from his voice now that you're calmed down. He's not meant for war, you think, offhandedly.

"Not long. She's really out of it," The medic explains, pushing the bangs out of your face as he looks over his work, checking your barely conscious form for anymore injuries. "Give it a few more minutes and she'll be out like a light."

"Good. She's saying some... weird shit." Church doesn't elaborate, but you wish he would, if only to help you understand just what secrets you might spilling to these guys.

"It's expected. She lost a lot of blood, Church," The medic replies, patting your head once he's done. If you could move, you'd bite him. "Thankfully, you and Caboose got her here in the nick of time. She would've died if it weren't for you guys. So, as for the damages..." You zone out as English becomes nonsense in your mind, no longer coherent enough to understand the simulation troopers and the medic. Quietly, you drift back to sleep, hoping against hope that you'll wake up in her bed and it'll all have been a dream. Just a bad, bad dream.

* * *

 **A/N: Should I continue this? I'd love to know what y'all think (I'm rusty when it comes to writing South so I wanna know if it sucks or not). Please review/comment/reblog, it'd mean a lot to me!**

 **~CabooseHeart.**


	2. Fingers

**I'm So Sorry**

 **Chapter 2: Fingers**

 **Description: AU. In this universe, before Delta can even tell Washington about North, South fires her pistol and kills Agent Washington. He's gone now and his story ends on an unfinished note. Now it's her story.**

 **A/N: So I was gonna wait and post this on the 28th, since that day is my seventeenth birthday, but I don't know if I'll have time that day so here. In other news I'm really loving this fanfic in particular, so let's hope the next update after this comes sooner than later! I start school again on the 8th of September, so updates will probably slow down for all my fics, but until then, I'll try my best to stay on top of everything! Please R &R!**

* * *

 _"Nice work in there, South," York comments when you walk into the locker room, an air of victory following you inside. "You kicked some serious ass."_

 _"What can I say?" You ask, unable to hide the sheer joy from your voice. "I guess I was just born to kick Covvie ass."_

 _"Either way, it was impressive, kid," Carolina compliments, and boy, does that make you fucking beam. Honestly, that's the best compliment you've gotten, and the Director nodded his head earlier and gave you a curt 'Good job' for crying out loud! "Keep up the good work."_

 _"It would've gone better if you had set your trackers..." And there's the killjoy. North gives you an unimpressed look from where he's seated, back against his closed locker, his armor off all the way down to his torso, leaving his under-suit open for all to see. "Next time, you should really follow the Director's orders, sis."_

 _You resist the primal urge to tell North to shut his mouth. The mission was a success, and to you, that's all that matters. So what if you never set your trackers? You completed the objective with little to no interruptions and escaped with only one new soon-to-be scar to show for it, it being a plasma burn on the back of your left thigh. It stings and burns like a bitch, but you've suffered so much worse in your time. When North looks away from you, still glaring, so does York, though he seems to do it more shamefully. He thinks you did well regardless, but damn him if he's about to take your side over your brother's. Carolina smiles at you though, somewhat comfortingly, and that keeps you from spitting out fire at York and North. You're grateful. Carolina's good at reminding you to keep your cool._

 _"So... I heard we're getting a new recruit soon," York offers up, trying to break the tension in the air, thick and heavy and stressed. "Supposed to be some guy from Earth. Pretty cool, huh? We don't get a lot of Earth kids this deep in space..."_

 _Except you do, because Carolina, you, and North are all former Earth kids. Carolina is from Texas, like the new recruit coming in, and you and North are both from Ohio. "Sounds promising," North finally replies, after another pause. "Any idea what state he'll be?"_

 _"Washington," York sounds out, smirking to himself in satisfaction. You almost want to laugh at him; he more than likely talked Connie into hacking the MOI's mainframe to find out about all of this. "I'm thinking he'll need a nickname once he's on-board."_

 _"How about Wash?" Carolina suggests, and York claps his hands together, once, then points directly at Carolina, a wacky look on his face._

 _"There it is." York announces, and you laugh this time, along with North. You stop abruptly, however, as you realize how much your laughs sound alike._

 _Carolina seems to notice, and she walks up to you, a hand falling onto your shoulder to catch your attention. "Hey," She says, and her voice is soft and quiet, as to keep from being noticed by the other Freelancers in the room. "You wanna get outta here and spar? I know it's late, but I doubt anybody will be in the gym to bother us."_

 _You nod almost too enthusiastically, glad to have an excuse to leave the room, especially since you'll be leaving with Carolina. "Yeah," You agree, smiling. "That sounds awesome, 'Lina."_

 _Together, the two of you leave the locker room, and this time, you're not as angry when the memory begins to fade as you start to wake up._

* * *

This time, when you wake up, the room is empty save for the purple armored guy, whose reading a magazine while lounging in a chair in the corner of the room. You're dead quiet as you search the room, eyelids feeling heavy with the added weight of pain suppressants trying to put you back under. You glance down at your stomach, your under-suit gone, discarded, revealing your breasts and stomach to the outside world. You blink cautiously down at yourself, while your left hand, very slowly, reaches up and loosely traces the red blood stain on the bandages wrapped tightly around your middle, squeezing your belly somewhat. You then glance to the right, only to see that the purple armored guy has put down the magazine and is now staring at you, eyes glued to your hand over your bandages.

For a moment, you stare at each other, before the medic seems to realize that you're uncomfortable and looks away from your torso, staring into your eyes. "Sorry," He apologizes, and after a second, he stands, cautious and quiet. "Um... do you know your name?"

"South," You offer, and when he gives you a grimace, you sigh, shaking your head in agitation. "Agent South Dakota. Olivia Crimson."

"Oh," The medic mouths, before pulling off his helmet to smile at you. "Well, my name is Frank DuFresne, but people usually just call me Doc..." He mumbles out the last bit, like he's not happy about the given nickname.

You take a moment to really look at him. The guy, in your opinion, does not at all looked suited for any type of warfare. If anything, he looks ready to join a war protest. He's got dark brown skin, looking Indian, and short, black hair that is in an absolute mess on his head. He's got a rounded nose, and big, puppy-dog brown eyes that seem to bear into you, as if he's done something wrong and is now begging for your forgiveness. His smile is loose and unsatisfactory on his face, forced really, and you can see that he's missing his upper left lateral tooth. There's a tiny, thin scrap of a scar on the lip above the tooth, suggesting that he either got punched and lost the tooth, or fell and ripped his lip open, losing the tooth upon impact. You feel it's the latter hypothesis that's correct.

It's only when you notice his lips moving that you realize that he's been trying to say something to you. "What?" You question, aloud, hoping he'll be patient and repeat himself.

Doc smiles again, this time in understanding, and looks happy that you're paying attention this time. "Do you know where you are?" He asks, repeating himself.

You lick your lips, trying to moisten them as you think back, only to find that your long term memory is hazy, with too much red coming to the forefront of your thoughts. "No," You admit, after a few more seconds of contemplation. "What happened to me?" You ask, hoping that the medic might actually answer you.

Doc hesitates, if only slightly, his brow knit in concern, before he relents and let's out a long, even sigh of defeat. "You were shot, according to Caboose and Church," He explains, walking towards you and checking you over while he talks. "Caboose said it was 'Most definitely not his fault', so I'm pretty sure he shot you. Don't take it personally though, Caboose wouldn't actually shoot you to kill. It just... happens," He trails off, deep in thought, before he shakes it off. "I'm not sure how you came to be in Caboose's line of fire, but I can tell you that you are one lucky lady. You barely made it."

You nod, numbly, tired and uninterested. Turns out, being unconscious due to blood loss and pain medication does not leave you well-rested afterwards. "Where're the fuckers who brought me in?" You ask, after testing your weight by squirming on the med-bed.

Doc brightens at that. "They're scavenging the nearby buildings for supplies!" When this earns him a confused look, the medic gives a nervous chuckle. "Um, yeah, you're not at a standardized hospital, miss. You're at my bunker. I've been here for a few months now, trying to hide from some... angry customers," He chuckles nervously again, and you suddenly fear for your life and well-being. "Oh, don't worry, miss! I made sure to get it right when patching you up, so there's no need to worry! Besides, just from looking at you, I'm thinking you've got people to hide from too, huh?"

"Uh... yeah. Sorta," You admit, nodding cautiously up at the medic. You almost want to demand to see a medical degree, but you resist the urge. He saved you, after all. "Can I fucking go now?" You start to roll out of bed, ignoring the searing pain in your stomach.

"Oh God no!" Doc shouts, slightly hysterical as he rolls you back onto the bed, holding your arms down with surprising strength to keep you down. "You could pull those stitches, and I'm almost out of thread to stitch it back together!" He backs off after giving you a warning look, hands up in surrender. "Just... be patient. I'm sure Caboose and Church'll be back sooner or later, so you can see them then. Here," He goes to his chair, taking the magazine he'd been reading, giving it to you once he's back by your side. "It's an older issue, but it's got some great articles in there about basic first-aid... not that I used that article as my only diagram while patching you up or anything! Actually... maybe you should just take a nap..."

You return the magazine to him with a glare, before huffing and crossing your arms stubbornly over your chest. This is bullshit, in your opinion, but the medic DOES have a good point... you can't afford to get hurt again, not while that Church guy is still wanting you dead. Defeated and grounded for now, you survey the bunker, trying to get a feel for the place. It's old, older than the war possibly, with old posters ingrained into the walls, stained in by water damage years and years ago. There are newer posters up now, one even with a little kitten hugging a branch shouting 'Hang in There'. Wash would like that poster. Upon remembering Washington and why you're here, you scowl, sighing internally. You can't afford to think about him. It was his life or your's, and personally, you weren't exactly keen on kicking the bucket just yet. You still got a score to settle with the Meta, for killing both your brother and Carolina.

Mid-way through a lovely daydream involving yourself kicking the Meta's ass off an icy cliff like he did with Carolina, you hear a knock on a door in the distance. You make to sit up, but Doc clicks his tongue, giving you a stern glare when you look his way. The medic stands afterwards, attaching his helmet back over his head as he leaves you alone, walking towards the source of the noise. You look forward, having to lean up a bit to see a short staircase leading to a big, strong metal door. Doc squeezes out the door, the soft sound of him conversing with one or more people outside acting as a background sound as you stare at the ceiling, awaiting his return. You've always hated recovering from wounds, since you mostly have to sit around all day and do nothing. At least on the MOI you had your game systems, and people were always visiting each other in the medical wing.

You miss those days, back when everyone actually loved each other and wanted each other to get better. You remember your second month into the project, when you had gotten yourself damn near blown to bits after completing a mission. Everyone had been all over you for the next week, never giving you a moment's rest with so many visitors coming and going. It had pissed the doctors off, but you had loved the company and attention. Carolina and North had visited the most, Carolina talking her mouth off about whose ass she'd kicked in training, or about the latest missions she'd been on. North had come to more or less fret over you, constantly trying to adjust your pillow or sit you up, or even try to feed you at one point (You had taken the pudding cup and thrown it at him when he had tried that).

Before you can remember how absolutely infuriated the doctors had been, you hear the bunker door swing open, and in comes Caboose, Church, and Doc. "We have returned!" Caboose cheers, as if you were actually worried about them. "And we brought more band-aids!"

Church rolls his eyes, shooting you a scowl when he comes to your bedside. You promptly flip him off, and for whatever reason, his eyes widen a bit, surprised that you've acted just as hostile towards him. "Looks like some bitch is bright eyed and bushy tailed," Church comments, uninterested in your antics. "She gonna make it or what, Doc?"

Doc rolls his eyes, irritated apparently that Church is trying to get a rise out of you. "She'll be just fine. Please leave my patient alone, Church."

"She started it," Church fibs, even though you most certainly did not start it... unless offing Washington 'Started it'. In which case, you totally started it. "Whatever. We got what ya wanted. Now what?"

"Well..." Doc pauses, walking over to you to look you in the eyes. "Um... Miss Crimson? What is it you want us to do?"

You give Doc a raised eyebrow in response. "It's... just South," You assure the medic, tempted to reach up and pat him on the shoulder. "Call me South. When can I leave, asshole?"

Everyone goes quiet, exchanging silent glances. Doc scratches behind his head, even though he's wearing his helmet again, refusing to meet your eyes. "Well, um... you can't. Not yet at least. You're in no shape to move, South." The medic explains, looking uncomfortable.

You sit up, ignoring the strain on your stitches, and glare hatefully at the three men in the room with you. "If you fuckers did something to me, I swear, I'll-"

Doc raises a hand, and you go quiet, biting your tongue to keep from speaking. "-You have my word, South, that I'd never intentionally harm or neglect a patient under my care. You were shot in the stomach- there's no way around that. Unless, of course, someone were to carry you..."

Caboose perks up, grinning as he scrambles to rip off his helmet, shooting you a toothy, childish grin. "I will carry the angry lady! I have carried her before, and she was not heavy at all!"

You take a few minutes to analyze Caboose, looking the kid over. He's younger than you, more than likely, with a shock of raven black hair on his head, frizzy and messy and all over the place with no sign of improving anytime soon. He also has dazzlingly blue eyes, blue like the sky when it's late at night on a summer night, fireflies just about ready to start buzzing through the nighttime air. Caboose continues to smile, and you notice that he scars. A lot of scars. There's one going from his bottom lip to below his jaw, pulling whenever he smiles too wide, yet it doesn't seem to faze him. There's a long, jagged scar that didn't quite scar right that runs straight down over his right cheek. And the last one- on his face at least- is a small one that cuts across his right eyebrow, pulling whenever he furrows his eyebrows together in deep concentration or thought.

He looks like he's seen war, but he also looks like he shouldn't have. He's too young. Way too fucking young.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, snap outta it," Church orders, snapping his fingers in your face. You respond by grabbing his fingers, flashing him the briefest of smirks, and break his index finger and his thumb. " _SHIT_!" He curses, loudly, howling as he reels back, wounded by your attack. "The _FUCK_ was that for!?"

" _Existing_ ," You offer, still unimpressed by the cobalt soldier. His bullheaded anger and rage doesn't faze you, South Dakota. He is no threat to you. "You, doctor guy," You look to Doc, who jumps slightly, impressed by your assault on Church. "Yeah, you. How long until I can get moving again?"

"That depends," Doc mutters, regaining his medical professionalism as he takes Church aside, sitting him down in a chair so he can attend to him later. "How much physical exercise are you wanting to do after your recovery? Because you won't be fighting anyone for at least a month, maybe a month and a half to give it some extra time."

"I plan to kill the fucker responsible for all of this," You explain, and when Doc seems confused, you sigh and shake your head. "The Meta, smartass. You never heard of him?" Doc shakes his head. "Well... he was like me once. He was Agent Maine-"

"-The Meta is a _FREELANCER_!?" Church booms, and you have to physically fight down the urge to get up and break the rest of the fingers on his right hand.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm telling this story," You growl, and when no one responds, more than likely out of fear, you settle down again. "Anyway... Maine was a Freelancer, like me and Wash were. Then... shit got real. He got Sigma and Sigma turned out to be a load of bullshit. He more or less fried his brain and took him over. Now they're the Meta."

"That... is very scary," Caboose concludes, though he doesn't look too afraid. "I think we need to call the Avengers."

"They won't answer," You say, instead of telling Caboose that the Avengers don't exist. Let him dream a little. God knows you want to. "So it's just us now. Project Freelancer... they'll be after us. Yes, I mean all of us. You fuckers are involved now. You ever burn the body like I ordered?" They all exchange a look, before Church and Caboose shake their heads. "Yeah, you're in deep shit now. No doubt Wash was logging all of his plans, and keeping tabs on everything he was doing. Dude was a Sherlock fan back in Freelancer; could never quit with the loner detective bullshit. He actually owned a trench coat."

"Whatever," Church grumbles, unimpressed by your knowledge. "So what? Why would Freelancer come after our asses?"

You smirk, slightly deranged and definitely Disney villain worthy. "You fuckers went with him. You really think he wouldn't log that shit? Now Freelancer thinks you're his accomplices... and they're coming for you."

"So... what do we do now?" Doc asks, fear evident in his voice. "We can't fight them! I'm a pacifist! Also, they have way more people and way more guns!"

"One," You lie back down, pointing a finger at the ceiling. "We get my ass up and running before they find us. We're in a bunker, so we should hopefully make it for awhile. Might need to move at least once a week, just to be sure. Two," You hold up a second finger to accompany the first. "We arm ourselves. Call in all our favors and get a crackpot team together. And three," You pause, trying to think. "... We raid Command. We'll find something in there to take 'em out with."

"That plan just might be crazy enough... TO GET US ALL FUCKING _WRECKED_!" Church shouts, glaring at you through his visor. "You seriously wanna raid Command? Are you crazy? Are you fucking _suicidal_!?"

"Probably," You decide, sighing. "Hey, it's not the best motherfucking plan, but we can touch it up a little. Maybe add a few things. We'll see." With that, you yawn, closing your eyes and passing out before anyone can stop you or ask why.

* * *

 _You come running into the house in tears. You bust open the backdoor, crying and angry and with blood covering your knees and elbows. You run straight past Ma, because she'll just scold you for not using training wheels like Owen, and run to Pa. You have to run downstairs into the basement to find him, eyes bleary with tears as you reach up, opening his workshop door once you reach the back of the basement. He's standing, leaning over his worktable, but he stops what he's doing as soon as he sees you in the doorway. He pulls off his welding helmet, revealing the bluest eyes you've ever seen, a shock of blond hair identical to your's, and a concerned frown. Pa doesn't even pause to pull off his gloves before he crouches down in front of you, scooping you up ever-so-gently, careful not to rub your bloody knees and elbows on his shirt, worrying that it might hurt you. You cling to him, sobbing into his shirt pitifully._

 _"Heya, sharpshooter," Pa whispers, voice gone to Hell after years and years of smoking. "What's wrong, baby girl? You fall off your bike again?"_

 _You nod, hiccuping as you pull away to look him in the eyes, wiping the tears away from your lightning blue eyes. "Yeah," You mumble in defeat, obviously upset after your fall. "I crashed 'n went flyin' after hittin' Old Man Henry's gravel driveway."_

 _"Well shit," Pa says, not bothering to keep from swearing in front of you. "You tell Ma yet?" When you give him a pout, he sighs. "Honey... now I know Ma can be damn tough on ya, but she loves ya just as much as I do. Come on, ya little trooper. Let's get you patched up." With that, he carries you out of his workshop and towards the stairs. You cry yourself to sleep by the time he reaches the first stair._

* * *

 **A/N: Ooooooo. A little of South and North's childhood, hm? This should be very interesting indeed. Please R &R!**

 **~CabooseHeart.**


	3. Questions

**I'm So Sorry**

 **Chapter 3: Questions**

 **Description: AU. In this universe, before Delta can even tell Washington about North, South fires her pistol and kills Agent Washington. He's gone now and his story ends on an unfinished note. Now it's her story.**

 **A/N: DON'T WORRY I STILL CARE ABOUT THIS FIC IT'S JUST SLOW-COMING, I AM SO SORRY! Please R &R!**

* * *

You don't have to open your eyes to know that it's Delta hovering overhead. Other than the soft whispers he keeps muttering, there are almost no other sounds. The room is dark, hinting that it might be nighttime right now. You shift, trying to feel around, only to find that someone has draped a blanket over you this time around. Above you, Delta goes quiet rather abruptly, seemingly studying you as you keep your eyes shit, tired still and disoriented. As your senses reinstate themselves in your mind, you can pick up more sounds from all around you. Someone- or more than one someone- is snoring quietly a few feet away, lower to the ground. Outside, you can hear the slightest bit of wind, the nuke-proof doors making it hard to hear much of anything from outside the bunker. Your eyes begin to hurt from behind your eyelids as Delta draws closer to your face, examining you.

"You are awake." Delta comments, quiet, keeping his voice down while everyone else gets some shuteye.

"Disappointed, D?" You ask, equally as quiet. You can _feel_ Delta flash, slightly, suggesting that the nickname 'D' cuts a nerve.

"Do not call me that," It's a clear order, coming from Delta. Not at all a suggestion. "Only Agent New York may call me 'D'."

"Well, York's dead," You point out. You're treading on thin ice here, but it's not like Delta has anymore power than you do right now. "Where are you?"

"I am above you, South. Was that not obvious?" Delta replies, not even commenting on how you mentioned York's death. He's surprisingly calm about all of this.

"No one is above me, asshole," You promise, still keeping your eyes shut as you blindly snarl, still desiring sleep over a useless conversation with Delta. "And I know that you're fucking floating above me like Tinkerbell, Delta. I'm asking 'bout where you're set up. You still in Caboose or whatever his name was?"

Delta takes a minute to respond. "I... have been installed into..." He doesn't want to say it, you notice, which makes you smirk internally. This outta be good. "... The microwave."

There's a beat of silence. Then you fucking lose it. It's just so _funny_ , the way he says it, with such shame in his voice. You can hear people in the background moving and shifting, including Church, who shouts a loud _'Shut the fuck up!'_ , which only makes you laugh harder. You haven't laughed this hard in a long, long time, Agent South Dakota. Nothing has been this funny in a long time. You think the last time you laughed this hard was when Connecticut almost threw a throwing knife into York's right eye. He had always said that he'd lose that stupid fucking right eye... but then he lost his left eye. That had also been pretty funny, but not as funny as York almost getting stabbed or Delta being installed by a bunch of Simulation Troopers into a _fucking microwave_.

"It is NOT that amusing," Delta practically whines, after you start to calm down, coughing and choking as your laughter subsides. "They have only placed me here until further notice. This is not at all a permanent move."

"You're right... it's fucking _priceless_!" You promise, grinning as you squint open your eyes, Delta a small, green blur of data hovering above you, watching you, like a hawk or sniper. You prefer the hawk comparison. "So why ya waking me, Delta? Finally got something to say to me?"

Delta hesitates, sparking above you as your eyes slowly un-squint, growing used to the intense lighting. "Why did you kill Agent Washington?" He asks after a few more minutes, and okay, you sort of saw that one coming.

You sigh aloud, tempted to roll over, but you think better of it when you remember the stitched up hole in your stomach. "You really wanna know, dumbass?" You inquire, not meeting his gaze, more out of stubbornness than guilt. "It's because it was either gonna be me or him who was gonna get outta there alive. I chose me."

Delta thinks on your answer, deep in his own thoughts before he bothers replying to you. "Agent Washington's mission was to destroy the Meta," He states, calmly. "Now it seems the mission has been left unfinished, yet you have intentions to finish it yourself. Do you truly believe you are capable of defeating the Meta?"

You finally meet Delta's gaze, glaring hatefully up at him. "Of course I do," You say, trying to hide the hesitance from your voice. "I could kick Maine's ass any day of the week."

"You cannot," Delta decides, tilting his head at you. "Agent Washington was far more experienced with fighting Agent Maine, as he and Agent Texas were the only Freelancers to ever spar with him and live to tell the tale. You have never battled with the Meta directly. You would be killed."

"You're so full of it," You growl, shutting your eyes and turning your head to look away from him. When Delta doesn't disappear immediately, you snap your head back to glare viciously at him, growling under your breath. "Fuck off!" You scream, and you hear Caboose whimper in the corner of the room as Delta finally goes away, disappearing in a flash of lime green.

You ignore the ball of guilt in your stomach as you shut your eyes again, and blame the pain on your bullet wound. You embrace the darkness Delta's departure has brought you, reveling in the quietness that follows. You think you can hear Caboose shifting a few feet away, scared, and you almost want to apologize, but in the end, you refuse to. You can't risk these guys thinking that you have a soft spot for any of them. You're very tired, but it looks like you're not going to fall back asleep anytime soon. Oh well. You settle for glaring at the cat poster on the wall, focusing on the kitten holding onto the branch, it's grip on the twig weak. You hope it doesn't lose it's grip, before shaking it off. No. You need to be serious. You close your eyes, and the darkness takes you away with ease. You pretend it doesn't scare you.

* * *

When you wake up, you're greeted by intense, emerald green eyes. For a moment, you believe yourself to still be asleep, dreaming of her again, but a few blinks later informs you that it's not Agent Carolina hovering over you like a serial killer- it's Church, or whatever the fuck his name is. He looks pissed, then again, you're pretty sure that that's normal at this point. His scowl could challenge Carolina's, if she were still alive, unfortunately though, she's not around anymore to test with and see who would win. Something tells you that Church would win, somehow, if only by pure stubbornness. As your brain catches up to you- slowly, like a line of troops marching through muddy sludge on a planet of jungles and swamps- you begin to notice the bigger things, like the knife in Church's hand.

"Hey," You say, weakly, after a moment has passed. Your voice is, embarrassingly enough, drunken and sloppy, but it'll do. "What time is it?"

"Why do you care?" Church bites back, and already you can tell that he means business. He doesn't give you the chance to reply before he's talking again. "You broke them, you know," When you raise an eyebrow in confusion, he holds up his bandaged fingers. "My fingers, bitch. You broke them."

"You were being an ass," You explain. After some contemplation, you actually remember the initial confrontation, and yeah, you still think he fucking deserved it. "Where's the doctor?"

"You mean Doc?" Church asks, slowly unwinding, even though you just called him an asshole. He's probably used to it by now, and with his attitude, you have good reason to believe that it's true. "He's outside, talking to Caboose. He and I are gonna go scavenging again later," He takes a seat in a chair by your bed, setting the knife to one side. You relax a fraction at the sight. "I'm gonna start asking questions, and you're gonna answer, alright?" He glares at you now, and you glare right back at him. You are not about to be interrogated like a hostage.

"And what if I just shut my eyes and go to sleep, huh?" You growl, sitting up on your elbows, even as it burns your insides and makes you see stars temporarily. "Or what if I fucking lie? What ya gonna do then, huh?"

Church considers you for a moment, and again, you are reminded both of Agent Carolina and the Director. They both had those same shockingly green eyes, and Church appears to have also acquired their eye color. Not to mention, he also resembles the Director a great deal, so much so that you occasionally have to do a double-take when you see him, if only because he triggers too many memories. Some the memories are nice; those ones involve Carolina. The others... well, let's just say that the Director was never your favorite superior. You snap out of your stupor when Church picks the knife back up, examining it, and all too suddenly you want to either run and hide or rip the knife out of Church's hand and cut his vocal cords out with it. You want to paint the floor red and brown with his blood. But you don't.

"If you don't answer my questions honestly... I'll fucking kill you." Church explains, looking between you and the knife, like he's already trying to decide where to stab you.

He's bluffing; that much you know. If he could kill you, he would've done it after you had shot Washington in cold blood (It was actually pretty warm blood), or would've slit your throat after you had fainted. Instead, he kept you alive. Church is not a killer, and for whatever reason, the idea is oddly enough refreshing. It's nice to know that, for once, there's someone in a room with you that's not willing to pull the trigger on you or bash your brains out of your skull. Of course, it also means that he's a coward and of practically no use for you or the others in a fight, but fuck it at this point. After all, you still have Caboose as a working gun, and that Doc guy can probably use a gun, if need be. Then again, didn't he mention he was a pacifist or something? There goes another gun.

You realize, South Dakota, that maybe Delta's right.

Alone, you know, that taking on the Meta is practically suicide. If it were a few years back, when you were at the top of your game, maybe then you'd stand a chance. But facts are facts; you're getting tired. You're getting captured more easily, caught off guard more often. Sooner or later, your smart mouth and wise-cracks won't be able to talk you out of a speeding bullet aimed at your skull. That doesn't mean you're gonna throw in the towel just yet. If you're going down, than goddammit, you're taking that brother-killer Meta out with you. You'll drag that AI-driven monster screaming and kicking into the fiery pits of Hell if you have to. The bottom-line is that you're not giving up, even if your only back-ups are a pacifist, a mentally scarred ex-SPARTAN, and some asshole who doesn't even have the Gift of Gab on his side.

"Okay," You eventually murmur, after collecting your thoughts. Church, for his part, has been oddly patient, waiting on you to speak first. "Fine. I'll answer your dumbass questions."

"Good," Church replies, looking almost glad that you've agreed to cooperate. He really isn't ready to find out that he can't kill a man in cold blood. "Question one; what do you know about Project Freelancer?"

"Project Freelancer was a shitshow," You sum up, sighing in deep thought. You close your eyes. You see long, braided red hair and a unicorn T-shirt. You smell stale blood and Bio-foam. And, just faintly, you taste just a puff of cotton candy on the tip of your tongue. "Everybody was friends in the beginning, but then shit got real. Long story short; never give a mentally unstable jackass access to a bunch of super soldiers with virtually no supervision. It doesn't end well."

"Clearly," Church agrees, nodding his head after your explanation. "Question two; who exactly was the Meta?"

"Agent Maine," You almost whisper it out. It hurts, in a way, to mention him, because Maine isn't the Meta. Maine died a long time ago, when Sigma ripped Eta and Iota out of Carolina's skull... Hell, maybe he died as soon as Sig was plugged in. You hope not. The very idea disturbs you on an instinctual level that you cannot fully explain, not even to yourself. "He was a Freelancer, like the rest of us. He was the muscle of the operation, other than Tex of course, and he was usually 'Bad-Cop' during interrogations on Innie shitheads... God, he really knew how to scare a man shitless."

"So he was just another Freelance-fucker?" Church asks, only really registering that bit of your explanation. You can't bring yourself to mind that much. "Figures. Alright, last question, then I'm done."

"If you're gonna ask why I killed Wash, go ask Delta," You order, before Church can even ask his question. "I'm not repeating it twice."

"It's... it's not that," Church admits, and this makes you raise an eyebrow. He suddenly appears... nervous; like he has a secret and can't tell you. "Look, so, Delta fucking told us, after you clocked out when you killed Wash... he told us about your bro, and how you killed him. Well, he said you killed his ass, but not directly."

You stare at Church for awhile, before looking away, chuckling under your breath. "So he did tell you fucks... figures," You lean on your elbow, being very careful not to pull on your stitches. "Look, to be honest... I'm not sure if I actually DID kill him... I could've sacrificed myself to save him, but I fucking didn't. So, yeah, in a way, I did murder my own goddamn brother. Happy?" You most certainly off, but hopefully this'll get Church off your back, at least for the time being.

Church watches you, absorbing the information, before he stands and nods. He picks up the knife, without looking at it, and replaces it in it's holster on his armor. Once the blade has disappeared in a pocket of Kevlar, he stares at you again, his eyes suddenly filled with an almost maniac form of all-knowingness. Like he gets it, even though he doesn't. He, apparently, has found your answers satisfactory, if him putting his knife away is any indication. After a moment, Church goes away, leaving the bunker to quickly be replaced by Doc who, after checking your bandages, leaving you in peace. You stare at the bunker's ceiling and close your eyes, hearing Church and Caboose talk outside. You can't hear exactly what they're saying, but their banter is enough to lull you into a deep, patient sleep.

This time, you dream.

You dream of _her_.

* * *

 _You're thirteen years old. It's been five and a half years since Mom and Dad divorced and Dad moved out, leaving behind for you nothing more than a kiss on the cheek, a stuffed dragon, and a locked case with an envelope that only says 'For Olivia: for your eighteenth birthday'. You still have five more years until you can open it. Your new dad is... okay. He, for the most part, ignores you. He likes Owen though. He takes him hunting, but not you, because you're just a 'Little girl'. That's why Mom has let you invite your best friend Hannah over for a slumber party for the weekend. Right now, you're in the tree-house Dad made for you and Owen when you were just toddlers, so that you'd both have a place to play in peace if you needed it. It's useful, as it allows you to hide away from Mom's prying eyes, allowing you and Hannah some privacy._

 _"So how come you don't go hunting with Owen and your step-dad?" Hannah asks while painting your nails lilac purple, her hands smooth and delicate. "Seems like hunting would be right up your alley, Olivia."_

 _You groan, and Hannah giggles while you roll your eyes. "Who, me? No way! I ain't gonna spend seven days in the mud shooting squirrels," You declare, excluding the fact that you spent four days trying to convince your step-dad that you could keep up with him and Owen, but that he had ultimately refused you. "Besides, I'd much rather be hanging out with you, Han."_

 _Hannah blushes, and something in your chest flutters a bit at the sight, going off kilter, before tightening, like it's resisting the feeling. "That means a lot, coming from you," She says, and then she's suddenly leaning in real close to you, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Can I tell you a secret, Olivia?" She whispers, her breath hot against your ear._

 _You shiver, then swallow. You suddenly feel very warm all over, yet it's not an entirely discomforting warmth. "What's the secret?" You ask, your voice husky, barely managing to get the words out properly._

 _And then Hannah changes everything; she kisses you. It's nothing special or fancy, since you're both thirteen and your both probably kissing for the first time (You are at least), but it's perfect in it's own way. It's perfect because it's your first time, because you've wanted to kiss a girl for a long time, because it's Hannah, and she was your first major crush. But you had never known it was okay- Hell, you still don't know if it's okay, but you keep kissing her anyways. It starts getting sloppy quick, and soon you separate, the both of you feeling slightly awkward yet satisfied. This is what you've both been craving for a long time, whether you realized it or not. When you finally meet Hannah's eyes again, she's grinning, and you grin back. Okay, so maybe being kicked out of the hunting trip isn't so bad after all..._

 _You feel the world going white, and you know it's a dream, but you still try to keep yourself there by grasping onto Hannah, but she's not there, not anymore. She's disappearing, evaporating before your eyes without so much as a whimper. She bears through it though, even though it looks awfully painful. She just keeps smiling at you, reaching a hand up to brush some of your blonde hair out of your eyes, giving you a better view. She leans down, kisses your forehead, and shatters, gone, but her presence still remains, even if she herself does not. You curl in on yourself, shaking, beginning to scream, but a hand covers your mouth, shushing you, and then you can smell the fresh nail polish on her finger tips while she whispers into your ear, hushing you as the dream slowly falls apart._

 _"It's okay, Olivia... I'll see you there." Hannah murmurs, before she's really gone this time, not even the scent of nail polish and strawberry hair conditioner remaining._

 _You cry, quietly, in your dream as it consumes you, sending you sinking into the darkness of your subspace._

* * *

 **A/N: Another exciting chapter, and there'll hopefully be another sooner rather than later. In the mean time, please R &R, and enjoy your day!**

 **~Supercasey.**


End file.
